


Virtuoso

by Vexia



Category: Café Enchanté (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon Divergence, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, alternatively titled: kotone's monsterfucker awakening, claw/fang fixation, liberties taken with what exactly destruction magic can do, misyr route spoilers mentioned in author's notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29403297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexia/pseuds/Vexia
Summary: She looks at him then, really looks at him; the long fingers, honed to razor points. The fangs peeking through that bastard smirk he loves to wear. Rough horns framing his face, gilded with gold. And she wonders if maybe, just maybe, she’s been missing out by being so blind to the distinction between human and non-human.
Relationships: Awaki Kotone/Miser Rex | Misyr Rex
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Virtuoso

**Author's Note:**

> alternative alternative title: "if misyr claw is not for hurting then why is sharp?"
> 
> okay so hear me out. the true end where misyr becomes human and kotone pulls a danny phantom? we're not about that life. consider this post-alternative-end where misyr manages to separate kotone from the world of end times by restoring his former state and taking on ownership of the new world instead, in a more symbiotic way due to his existing affinity for it. if you don't think too hard about it, it makes sense. we can even sprinkle in 'kotone gets to live a lot longer because she's retained some of the world's energy'!
> 
> anyway not that it matters much, I just felt like I needed some framing for the pwp (and also the true end has haunted me since I finished it so I'm exorcising it from my life)

It’s probably well past midnight by the time Misyr steps into Kotone’s room - she stopped keeping track of time a while ago. She’s been drifting in and out of sleep for a while, the book she’d been reading abandoned beside her. It’s a comfortable sort of fugue state. With the gentle glow of moonlight and the soft breeze rolling in through the window, she’s relaxed, even if admittedly kind of annoyed.

And then the door creaks.

It snaps her awake, peace disturbed - he has the decency to look sheepish.

“So,” he starts, still holding the door, “I’m sorry I’m late. I got carried away experimenting with the new blend I’ve been working on, and…”

She pouts as he trails off. “You promised you’d be earlier tonight. I tried to wait up for you.”

“I know, I know. But if it’s any consolation, it tastes incredible now, if I do say so myself.”

Her anger softens a bit at that; she almost cracks a smile, but stops herself. It’s more fun to keep him on the hook for a little longer.

“I’m sure it does,” Kotone says, as flat-toned as she can manage.

Looking a little disappointed his charms didn’t work immediately, Misyr makes his way over to her, dropping down to kneel at her bedside. Sure enough, he smells of freshly ground coffee, and it’s clear he’s been hard at work downstairs. A promise is a promise, though…

“Look, I really am sorry, okay? I’ll try and keep a better eye on the time next time.”

“Isn’t that what you said last time?”

“Maybe I did. But this time I’ll _actually_ try.” He flashes a grin, clearly hoping she’ll just roll her eyes and let him off. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction, moving to pick up her book again instead. “No? Not good enough? Kotone. _Kotone_.”

He drawls out the last syllable just long enough to be irritating, and she turns away with a huff, still committed to the act.

Misyr isn’t having any of that. He reaches over to touch the side of her face with one hand, gently attempting to tilt it back to him. Kotone keeps her gaze fixed firmly on the wall, mostly because he’s prone to resorting to crocodile tears that she just can’t turn down.

“Hey. Look at me.” A clawed thumb strokes her cheek, just ever so slightly grazing skin. She still doesn’t look, but the feeling of it is… distracting, to say the least. Not one to be ignored, Misyr shifts himself up onto the bed properly, leaning over her, other hand joining the first to fully cup her face between them. “Are you _really_ mad at me?” he carries on, all too casually, like he’s already figured out her little game.

To be honest, she’s already forgetting what she’s supposed to be annoyed about.

That’s when she feels the first scrape trailing up her neck, toeing the line between soft and painful. Her breath hitches as she snaps back to attention. He tips her chin upwards, just in time for her to catch a glimpse of his eyes narrowing at the sound, to see the gears turning.

“Ah, I see how it is!” It comes out with a light-hearted chuckle, but Kotone knows he’s already three steps ahead. “If only I’d have known that getting your attention is as simple as just… hmm, how to put it nicely?” He feigns contemplation. “Using the tools I’ve been given.”

It dawns on her exactly what he means. It’s not like they haven’t been through this song and dance before - but until now, Misyr has always glamoured himself into human form. She’s never really pushed the matter, convinced he might still carry some hesitation about it. A belief he might hurt her.

She looks at him then, really looks at him; the long fingers, honed to razor points. The fangs peeking through that bastard smirk he loves to wear. Rough horns framing his face, gilded with gold. And she wonders if maybe, just maybe, she’s been missing out by being so blind to the distinction between human and non-human.

“Well,” she says finally, surprised at how even she sounds. “It’s not like I ever asked you not to. You know.”

“’You know’ what?”

She almost snaps back at that tease, but he swipes a thumb across her bottom lip, seemingly fixated on it. Her brain vacates slightly at the thought. Instead, all she can get out is, “... Be yourself?”

_Smooth, Kotone. Very smooth._

Thankfully, he lets that one slide.

“Aren’t you afraid of the scary demon king? Oh, woe is me, how will my reputation ever recover?” Misyr sighs, pushing the hair out of her face, and it’s only then she realises how hot she feels already, unusually so. She must be beet red, and can’t help but squirm slightly in embarrassment, which only evokes a wider smirk from the man looking down at her. These small touches feel so deliberate… too much but not near enough.

“N-no. And why should I be, when said demon king is such a big softy?”

She finds herself pulled roughly into his lap for that provocation. “You might regret saying that, Kotone,” he chides her, voice turning low as something in the atmosphere changes. He lowers his lips to the base of her neck, peppering it with kisses. “I could destroy you with a snap of my fingers, even now. Doesn’t that scare you?”

 _Do you want me to stop now?_ He asks without words. _Do you trust me?_

“It doesn’t scare me at all. I trust you,” she says, resolved.

There’s a shaky exhale against her skin in response. A hand snakes its way under the hem of her shirt, coming to rest in the small of her back, bringing her closer still. It flexes ever so slightly, five needle points digging in, there one second and gone again the next. Without thinking, she arches back into the feeling, craving more of it.

“I’m glad you do. At least that makes one of us.”

The first bite is more of a nip, but it still stings enough for Kotone to gasp, Misyr rubbing small circles on her back as an apology. It stokes some fire in her she didn’t know could burn, sending her grasping to hold onto something, latching onto one of the many complicated layers of fabric he wears.

The second, though - it comes out of nowhere and sinks much deeper, fangs piercing skin, her vision going white for a moment as the mixture of pain and pleasure and _oh fuck_ tries to reconcile itself.

Through the haze, she feels Misyr pull away just as suddenly, mourning the loss. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Her eyes refocus to the… interesting sight in front of her; eyes wide, full of concern, blood trickling from his mouth. Her blood? Definitely hers. Beneath the pleasant ache she can feel the small wounds he left behind. But god, all she wants to do right now his kiss him, wipe that worry away, get him to do it again, _anything_. And so she does - practically lunges for him, capturing his lips with her own, tasting the tang of copper and iron and finding herself not caring at all.

He apparently takes the hint, because he melts into it, the tension easing as he lets her lead for a moment. She can’t resist pushing further, heat coiling in the pit of her stomach as she slips her tongue into his mouth to trace the edges of those sharp teeth, nicking herself in the process. Misyr groans against her at the taste of it, pushing back, further and further until Kotone finds herself landing on a pillow, dragging him down with her.

They break apart for a moment, panting. Her mind reels. Where did this feeling come from, this need? Why didn’t she realise it before? Too many questions and no answers - maybe there doesn’t need to be an answer.

His knee slides up between her legs, applying just enough pressure to send that train of thought flying out the window.

“Misyr…”

“What is it, my dear owner?” He quips, but that quiet, honeyed tone just riles her up further.

Kotone steals another kiss from him, just because she can. “M-more.”

“More what, hmm? Use your words.” She reaches for him again and he leans back just out of reach. “So needy.”

“More… god, I don’t know. Anything. Please.”

He laughs a little at that, moves to pull off her nightshirt; she puts up no resistance, night breeze against her skin a pleasant relief. A simple hand gesture and all of his many layers are off too, leaving only his loosely fitted pants.

Misyr settles himself back at her throat, tipping her head away to expose it all the more. The anticipation is a strange mixture: one part bracing for the pain, one part swirling with arousal. He grazes the skin above her collarbone with sharp teeth - a threat and a promise - and the lines between those two feelings become all the more blurred.

“More of this?”

She tries to answer, but all that comes out is a whine.

“Patience is a virtue, Kotone.” A clawtip traces her spine, steadily applying more pressure as it descends. She squirms under the growing pain, but he just pins her to the bed with his weight. “Will you be good for me? Can you wait?”

“Yes,” she says, a little too fast.

He eases off of her ever so slightly, free hand trailing down her stomach, frustratingly gentle after everything that came before. It comes to rest just above the hem of her underwear, a single finger straying underneath, teasingly close to where she’s already soaked, aching to be touched. Too close. It takes everything she has to do as he says - to stay still when all she wants is to writhe into that much needed friction.

As wound up as she is, she barely registers the kiss pressed to her pulse point, where Misyr feels her heart rate pound away. “Easy now,” he soothes. “Relax. You’re doing so well for me.” So she tries - deep inhale, deep exhale, eyes fluttering closed.

Bastard that he is, that’s when he decides to slip that wandering hand further down and finally touch her. She chokes out a moan.

“Shh now, not so loud. What would your guests think?”

Absent-mindedly, she considers how much she’d love to beat him to death with a pillow right now, but then he slips a long finger inside her, and _fuck_ , she doesn’t dare move. He’s careful, slow - they both know how risky this is, how much it could truly hurt her if he angled himself the slightest bit wrong.

Somehow, though, that risk makes it feel all the better. A broken sigh escapes her lips as he drags slowly over her clit. She tenses, fighting the urge to arch up into the touch, to force him to move faster; it’s so hard not to, even with the potential consequences. As he pulls out again, switching back to teasing touches, she can’t help but feel a little disappointed at the loss, despite herself.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, clearly not sorry. “Not exactly my smartest idea. Let me make it up to you.”

And so he bites down hard, giving her what she truly craved from the start.

Searing hot pain, except it doesn’t truly hurt - it twists around in her mind, like there’s a wire crossed somewhere, and it feels so fucking good instead. This time, he doesn’t back off in regret, he clamps down, strokes her through it. It’s only when she’s about to hit the limit of what she can take that he lets go. Misyr laps at the bloody mess he made like the cat who got the cream.

Time passes strangely; the room above her spins, the only grounding sensation the feeling of tongue against broken skin. She’s still a little dazed when he sits up to look at her properly again. He kisses her, and she tastes that copper tang once more, stronger this time. The sting slowly dulls down to an ache, a reminder she’ll probably still feel long after the night is over.

“I…” she starts, but it comes out cracked, hoarse. He raises an eyebrow at that and fetches her glass of water from the night stand, offering her a sip while she pulls herself back together. It’s a simple gesture - but under the haze of lust she feels the love and concern seeping through, and she has to smile.

“That felt… amazing,” she tries again after a moment, steadier this time. “But I don’t think I can take it again. Not tonight.”

He grins wickedly at that. “Oh, no need to worry, sweetheart. There are always other ways I can devour you.” Before she can really process what’s happening, he’s moved her arms above her head, wrists pinned in his grasp. “Still trust me?”

She can only nod, not trusting herself to speak when he has her held like this, looming over her.

A chill replaces his grip as he weaves his magic around her wrists, the diffused violet light of sigils illuminating the space around them. It’s a strange sensation, not unpleasant, but definitely unnatural. She tugs at the binds a little, finding herself thoroughly stuck, as if she’d been tied to the headboard.

“Whoever said binding magic wasn’t useful? I could do anything I want to you right now.” A trail of kisses down her chest, drags of fang and claw down her abdomen leave goosebumps in their wake. He tugs down her underwear, leaving her fully exposed. Nestles himself between her thighs, rough horns rubbing against sensitive skin. “But really, all I want to do is taste you.”

There’s something so humiliating about it; the way her faces flushes crimson with no way to hide behind her hands. No way to escape the way he looks at her. She reflexively tries to push her legs back together, squirming, but he just spreads them further, holds them there firmly, an arm wrapped around each.

“You’re not going anywhere. Don’t even try.” True to his word, she really can’t - only struggle with her bound wrists, anticipation driving her mad. As soft kisses are pressed against her inner thigh, it gets harder to breathe, her body tensing. But he doesn’t follow through. Just keeps looking up at her with that infuriating smirk. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“F-fuck you.”

He grips her legs a little tighter, claws digging in, and she has to bite her lip to hold back a whine. “’Fuck you’? That won’t do. I’d much rather hear you beg.”

Kotone’s eyes widen at that. He’s never been quite this forceful before. It just makes that knot of arousal twist all the more, rational thought fading into static.

“Misyr, please…”

A low laugh. “Not good enough. Tell me what you want.”

“You. I want you.” She blurts it out, but it’s true. She just wants him, in whatever form that takes.

“And?”

“Just touch me, _please_.”

It comes out so pathetically desperate, but she can’t bring herself to care any more. That seems to satisfy him.

Every nerve ending fires as he drags her closer and dives in, rough tongue tracing a line along her cunt. The noise she makes barely sounds human, a strangled whine that just spurs him on, humming in appreciation; the feeling of it reverberates through her. He circles her clit, slowly, maddeningly so, echoing the the way his fingers had worked her while marking her so thoroughly.

All she wants to do right now is reach down, thread her hands through his hair - she feels so utterly at his mercy like this. Truly, all she _can_ do is wrap her legs around him, and so she does, savouring the friction of those horns, the ever tightening grip of claw-tipped hands, the pain entwining itself with the pleasure of Misyr’s mouth against her.

She’s so close to coming already.

He must sense it, somehow, because he redoubles his efforts. Broad, flat strokes alternate with more focused, insistent ones. For a moment, his tongue slips inside her, and it almost sends her spiraling there and then. Whimpers spill from her lips.

“I’m--” He cuts her off by yanking her closer still, impossibly close, her arms straining at the stretch. He eats her out like a man starved, the feeling overwhelming. Through the tears welling up in her eyes, she looks down at him, and even with vision blurred she can tell how much he’s into this, getting off on the taste of her.

A last curl of his tongue around her clit and she’s gone, cascading over the edge. As she rides out her orgasm he doesn’t let up, the overstimulation short-circuiting whatever brain cells she has left. When he finally pulls away she keens at the loss, still coming down from that high. Warmth returns to her wrists as he undoes the binding around them. She’s lost again for a moment, dazed, only coming back to herself when Misyr lifts her from the bed and back into his lap.

He’s a mess, face covered with her slick, pupils blown wide. Something about it stokes that fire in her again already - the thought that she’s had this effect on him without even really touching him. It’s like the tables have turned somehow… she wants more.

Kotone pulls Misyr towards her, crashing their lips together, tasting herself there. Lets herself touch him like she’d wanted to before, her freed hands tangling themselves in his hair. They roam further, tracing the outline of his pointed ears, mapping out the texture of his horns. He shudders at the touch.

Well. That’s an interesting bit of information.

She does it again, a soft, teasing touch to the underside - or at least as close as she can manage to one in the middle of a bruising kiss. A deep, shaky inhale.

“S-shit,” he whispers, letting his forehead rest against hers. “Not a weak spot I realised I had.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m the one who found it,” she whispers back, emboldened. Her other hand trails down his chest while he’s distracted, reaching to cup him through the pants he’s still somehow wearing. He groans, conflicted over which touch to lean into. “I do wonder what it feels like.”

“And I thought _I_ was the demon here. You’re cruel.”

“I learned from the best,” she says simply, stroking him just enough to get a reaction, but not enough for any real friction. He laughs at that, even as his body tenses.

“I’ll ask you what you asked me - what do you want? Tell me.”

“You.” It’s terse, clipped, as if he’d jump her right now if he wasn’t trying to be good.

She echoes his earlier phrase, smug sense of satisfaction included: “Use your words.”

“Want to fuck you,” he manages with a low rumble. “Let me fuck you, Kotone.”

God, there goes the upper hand. She makes quick work of stripping him after that, or at least attempts to. All the while, he distracts her with wandering touches - tracing the curves of her waist, her breasts, softness one moment and claws the next. It’s only fair. This little game they seem to have settled into, the back and forth teases, only adds fuel to the fire for them both.

Despite his best efforts - or maybe because of them - she manages to discard the rest of his clothes. With him finally as exposed as she is, she reaches down to stroke him in earnest, but he cuts her off with a growl. Rough and insistent, he grabs her by the hips, positions her over the head of his cock, holds her there. It rubs against her slit, dangerously close to sliding in then and there with how wet she is, the combination of Misyr’s hard work and this ever-growing new arousal.

She writhes in his grip, wanting nothing more than to feel him fill her, but he holds her firmly.

“Misyr… _please_.”

There’s no witty retort he can make to that, and so he relents. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowers her down onto his length. It’s somehow so measured, carefully controlled, even as the claws digging into her, the way he bites his lip until he punctures it show how much he’s struggling not to bury himself to the hilt already. She feels every inch, her arms wrapping around his shoulders instinctively, grasping for something to hold onto. The stretch leaves her gasping for breath, a burn intensified by how slowly she takes him in.

Kotone lets loose a loud, drawn out whine as she bottoms out, harmonised by his own moans. She basks in it for a moment, this feeling of being filled, taken, _wanted_ so badly, before she pulls him down to her. Steals a kiss, feverish, needy. Her hips rock forward involuntarily, leaving her gasping against his lips.

“You… you can move.”

“You’re sure?”

“I might kill you if you don’t.” They both laugh at that, the small movement it causes alone sending shocks through her. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

So he doesn’t.

He bucks upward once, harshly - a test, to see if she really means it. She sees stars for a moment, her nails digging into his skin in a death grip; it pales in comparison to what Misyr’s do to her, but it drags a moan from him all the same.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His hands curve around to grasp her ass, and he uses that leverage to set a brutal pace, driving into her in a way that makes her feel like she’s being split in two. Once again, the pain melts into pleasure, back into pain and both at once and _god, fuck_ when he leans her back in his lap, finding a way to somehow go even deeper.

It isn’t like any of the other times they’ve fucked - those were gentler affairs, sweeter, slower. This is messy, unhinged; how good it feels is a discovery for them both. Kisses sloppily exchanged, all tongue and teeth, cut lips. He marks her with fang and claw, never quite so harsh as his earlier bites, but still enough to send her mind reeling. Somewhere along the way, she learns how to bite back - the marks she leaves in return draw inhuman noises from him.

Still, underneath it all, what hasn’t changed is the love they both feel. If anything, that mutual sense of _‘I see you, I understand you and I trust you’_ feels stronger than it ever has.

It just so happens that right now, that manifests itself through Kotone playing dirty and grabbing Misyr’s horns, just to see how he’ll react. His hips stutter for a moment, thrown off of his rhythm by the sudden sensory overload.

“If you keep doing that… _god_ ,” he starts, but she just holds on tighter, using her grip to push back against him. “I’ll come.”

“Maybe you should.” She’s close again, herself - wound up tight enough to snap at any moment.

“Or…” She yelps as he shoves her down onto the bed, prying her hands free and pinning them down beside her head. No magic required. “You could behave.”

Her mouth opens but the words never come out, cut off by a keening whine as he buries his cock in her at this new angle. With her legs wrapped around his waist, Misyr all but fucks her into the mattress - not as fast as before, but making every thrust count, his full weight behind it.

The absence of touch somehow amplifies it all; without the distraction, the teasing, all she feels is _him_ , how he fills her, the friction. She hears their shared sighs and moans, the obscene sound of skin on skin. It’s too much.

Kotone falls over the edge once more, vision going white, feeling everything at once, the sensation of it unravelling her. He follows not long after, spilling inside her, the grip on her wrists tightening as his head falls to her chest. There’s a sense of loss as he pulls out, but it fades quickly into a comfortable exhaustion.

They remain like that, panting, completely spent, for what might be a moment or minutes. The first sign of life is him reaching for her hand, interlacing their fingers, and she smiles at that. Through the haze, the aches and pains she’s accumulated start to surface. They dim down again somewhat when he raises his head to look at her, a look of concern on his face; a warmth takes their place, seeing him pull himself back together just to make sure she’s okay.

“I’m fine,” she reassures him before he can ask, squeezing his hand.

“You’re sure?” He shifts upward more to properly look at her, the mess he’s made of her. She finds herself looking too, seeing for the first time all of the marks - scratches and welts, the occasional bruise. While she can’t see the puncture wounds gracing both sides of her neck, she can definitely feel them. It only occurs to her now, far too late, that she’s going to have to try and hide them from view tomorrow.

“I feel like I’ve been through worse before…” she says, and he rubs the back of his head sheepishly. They both know they’ve been through _far_ worse, and that this pales in comparison. It’s grounding.

“Still…”

“Misyr, it’s okay.” Though her body protests, she props herself up on an elbow and reaches up to kiss him gently. “You haven’t really hurt me - I enjoyed it. You know I did.”

“I know, it’s just--”

She puts a finger to his lips, cutting him off before he starts really over-thinking. “Enough of that. Listen to me. I love you.”

Hearing that, the tension drains from his shoulders. “I love you too.”

“And to be clear: I love you as you are. However that looks, however you act - it’s still you.”

“How unlucky for you,” he quips, and she rolls her eyes. Looks like he’s already back to his usual self.

“You could make it up to me by running me a bath. I think we both desperately need one.”

Completely caught off-guard, she finds herself scooped up into his arms, bridal style. “Your wish is my command, dear Kotone.” She laughs at that, relaxing into his hold. He presses a kiss to her forehead, tender enough that it makes her heart ache. “And, seriously - whether you feel okay or not, let’s make sure I haven’t done any lasting damage, hmm?”

“That sounds good to me.”

Even as he carries her to the bathroom, she’s starting to drift off, eyes fluttering shut. In that semi-lucid state, she feels immensely grateful that the layout of the café means they have the floor to themselves.

She tries not to think too hard about facing her other guests tomorrow. That’s a problem for future Kotone.

Those remaining worries melt away as Misyr strokes her cheek, soothing, a welcome reminder that his hands can comfort as well as bring pain.

**Author's Note:**

> basically the root cause of this is that I saw this sprite and since then I have not known peace: https://i.imgur.com/7zNnBGP.png
> 
> take a shot every time I wrote some variation on the word 'fuck', but actually don't do that - I don't want to be responsible for the state of your liver
> 
> anyway if you made it this far - thanks for reading <3 I'm going to go hibernate for a while because this took far longer than expected to write (nearly a month, shout outs to the archive post date being from 3 weeks ago)


End file.
